You Are My Future Plan english version
by Hypersmoove
Summary: Am I stupid? Never before have I wanted an honest answer so much. Never before have I felt so sure that I would get one. As I look into her eyes I know that her next words will either break me apart or send my whole world upside down.  AU
1. Welcome to the madhouse

**Summary: **Am I stupid? Never before have I wanted an honest answer so much. Never before have I felt so sure that I would get one. As I look into her eyes I know that her next words will either break me apart or send my whole world upside down.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T (for right now)  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I got encouraged to translate my original german story. Here it is! I'm still a little nervous about it, but with the great help of a native english girl, I will give it a try. I will continue to write the story in german first and will always update the english version a little bit later. Fortunately, there are already a bunch of finished german chapters. We will see how everything works out.

**Disclaimer:** Glee - sadly I own nothing.

Hope you like it!

**(1)** Welcome to the madhouse

I'm sitting on the passenger side with my head pressed against the window. Exactly where we're driving to? I don't know. The glass is amazingly cool; it feels like I'm pressing a cold bottle of soda, beer or something similar against my forehead. Everything else feels uncomfortably hot.

Luckily I changed my clothes again before leaving the house. I had actually wanted to put on the scarf that I bought last week. It makes me a little sad to think that I can't wear it, because it looks incredibly good on me and I'll probably have many more weeks to wait.

Earlier, when I marched out of the house, fully dressed, I nearly fainted. Its summer and I really should've taken note of the quiet hum of the air conditioning in the house; only because of it had my room seemingly felt like a pleasant autumn day for wearing a jacket, scarf and boots. Besides, according to my mother it was about 30 degrees in the shade yesterday and I suppose it's highly unlikely for something like that to change overnight...but then shouldn't the glass too be really warm if everything else is so hot?

I straighten up in my seat and start to inspect the transparent material. A quiet "Hm..." escapes my lips as I press my sweaty fingertips against the glass. At some point someone probably explained to me why it feels the way it does but I can no longer remember. What is glass even made of anyway and why is it transparent? Aside from the fact that people would end up driving into trees if it weren't...

It's one of those moments in which it's as though I can feel a jab to my heart; one of those all too frequent moments in which I think about whether everything is fine with my mind, with me. I don't know if I would describe myself as stupid, as I have often heard at school. It always hurts to hear that word because it's not true – at least I hope it's not. I'm smart enough anyway to know that I'm different. With this thought, I sigh and let my head fall back against the window.

"Is everything all right, honey?" It seems that the sound from my mouth was louder than I thought, loud enough to draw my mother's attention to me. I don't need to turn my head to know that every now and then she turns her eyes off the road and looks over at me.

"Everything's fine. I'm counting trees and just got confused. I don't know how many I've already seen and have to start all over again" is my simple answer. There really was no point in worrying her about my latest bout of self-doubt.

It's not like I haven't spoken to her about it before. I've asked her more than once if I'm stupid. For instance, on days when I was teased and came home from school crying. Or the days when I once again brought an 'F' on an exam home with me. She would look at me every single time, with this gentle look on her face and insist that I was definitely not stupid. She said that I was special and simply not created for this 'study and exam' pressure.

A hand finds its way to my knee and presses encouragingly: "Are you sure? You've been acting strange for days now. All serious and thoughtful."

I look down at her hand and notice how the corners of my lips twitch slightly upwards; this contact has never failed to cheer me up a little. "I'm just nervous. I like new people, but I never know if they like me too."

Half a year after graduating high school and all I've done is just sit around at home. Besides going out with friends or visits to the dance studio, I've done nothing. I was just glad that I had actually managed, somehow, to graduate. Which wasn't easy considering learning really isn't one of my strengths.

"It's time that you got out of the house more and start something with your life, Brittany." In this moment I realize the car isn't moving anymore. It appears that I was too distracted to even notice we had stopped moving.

My mother puts the car into the parking position and pulls the hand brake. After taking off her seat belt she turns to me: "You shouldn't be nervous. You're such a bright and cheerful person, they'll love you."

My gaze wanders over the illuminated neon sign above the entrance of the building. Does it make any sense to light up a sign in broad daylight? The radiation can hardly be seen through the bright sunlight. I have to smile a little. The whole building looks like a totally derelict warehouse from the outside. I never imagined it to look like that but the charm enchants me.

My fingers find the closure of the seat belt and open it: "The youth center is called 'Glee Club'? Like that school choir thing? "

"Well they try to give the lives of young people a new perspective through music and dance so the name seems quite appropriate." My mother replies and opens her door about to exit the car. I grab her arm and hold her back. I need to think carefully about what to say next as I don't want to hurt her feelings. After all, she got me this job.

"I know you want to support me, but I'd like to go inside alone... if that's okay?"

Only for a brief moment she seems a little taken aback, but then she shakes her head and gives me an encouraging smile: "Of course it's okay."

She can't stop herself from bending over to me and placing a short soft kiss on my cheek: "Have a nice first day. Everything will be all right."

A quick "Thank you!" shoots out of me and with a sudden movement I jump out of the car. The first few steps I'm going backwards, beaming to my mother, waving one last time and then I'm facing in the direction of the large steel door. I vaguely notice that the car has started behind me again and was leaving the parking lot.

It's hard to believe that dark, troubled thoughts had plagued me only a few minutes ago. After all, this place and everything is so new and exciting.

When my mother told me about this youth center a few weeks ago and made the suggestion that I could work there a few hours a week, I wasn't so sure if such a job was for me. I'm still not grown up yet and I'm not trying to convince myself that I am, like many of my friends do.

Why does anyone want to be grown up so fast? Some of my friends have tried to explain it to me - Growing up means that they can leave Lima. But that makes no sense at all. Lima isn't that bad. I mean, there are loads of pubs, amusement arcades, a cinema and we even have a gay bar.

I notice my cheeks turn slightly warm as I reflect on the bar. It really was an interesting evening when I stumbled there with some of my friends. Shaking my head, I try to banish these thoughts; I have to concentrate now. I tilt my head back and look at the neon sign above the entrance of the building again. Does it look so run down inside? The large sooty containers stood on each side of the door remind me of homeless people who live under a bridge and sit around a fire at night, telling stories. Do homeless children also come here? I wrinkle my forehead and try to remember what my mother told me about this place.

_"The center is operated by an organization that wants to teach children and young people with poor backgrounds or with no future plans. To give them a safe haven where they can learn new things and possibly find out what they want to make out of their lives."_

Future plans. I don't have any of those. Maybe I'll find them behind that door too.

I lay my head thoughtfully to one side and suddenly jump, startled as someone behind me clears their throat and begins to speak, clearly angry: "How much longer are you going to just stand there?"

Surprised, I take my arms from behind my back, not even aware that I had even crossed them, and turn around to the voice.

She's smaller than me and petite. If it wasn't for her very dark brown eyes, which sparkle gloomily at me, I would probably have just greeted her cheerfully and apologized for blocking the entrance, but with the way she looks at me, all I can do is open my mouth slightly – all the words remain stuck in my throat.

I don't know why, as from her stature she doesn't look very threatening, but her gaze gives the impression that she could go off on me at any moment: "You're still standing in the way."

I quickly take a step aside. I notice how I'm totally staring at her like I'm mentally challenged, but I can't take my eyes off of her. Mouth still slightly agape, eyes wide open; focused to absorb as much as possible of her.

She is very attractive - dark hair, darker complexion. She must come from some great, distant country. While I can't remember a country where people look like that, I'm convinced she definitely comes from a far away paradise.

But mostly I can't stop staring, because I'm wondering how a person can seem so harmless and wonderful in appearance yet her posture and her eyes are able to express something totally different? It was unsettling – she baffled me.

"You can close your mouth now." she almost hisses and goes without saying another word past me into the building.

Fortunately, my body is frozen in place and I'm not able to follow her directly, even though I think about it. With a loud bang she flings the door shut behind her which I would probably have got right in my face if I could have moved.

I wasn't aware that I was holding my breath until I notice the lack of air supply and start to inhale and exhale again. After another moment, I shrug my shoulders and walk towards the door. "Not every human being is a ray of sunshine..." I hum and have to smile at myself. The girl is probably just having a bad day. I can't imagine that anyone could always have such a negative aura. Besides I shouldn't dwell so on every complete stranger I meet.

What awaited me inside the building, I really hadn't expected. I step into a very large bright room, filled with chairs that look really comfortable, especially the large cushions of the corner sofa. Briefly, I feel the need to run over there directly and throw myself into them. Unfortunately, I'm not here for that. Maybe later... _hopefully later_.

I let my gaze wander; over the bar and over the large stage at the other end of the room. If the room were empty except for the stage, it would be the perfect concert venue. It probably still is.

Fascinated, I go several steps further; I feel like a kid at Christmas. Everywhere there's something new to discover and I'm wondering how much longer it will take before I can't take in anything more from sheer sensory overload. Also, I wonder why I hadn't heard of this place before; I would have liked to have hung out here after school, with its pool tables and soccer tables - probably because my interest in learning would have disappeared altogether if I had.

From the corner of my eye, I sense movement and turn myself in its direction. A curious pair of eyes are looking at me. Has he stood there the whole time? I smile and lift a hand to greet him: "Hi!" Because of my good mood I nearly bounce towards him.

Wait, what's that on his head? It almost looks like a dead animal. Why would someone breed a dead animal on their head? Should I tell him that it doesn't really look good at all? That probably wouldn't make a good first impression. However, with the way he was looking me up and down it's not like he was making a good impression either.

His gaze wanders over my entire body, his mouth twisted into a grin and finally, he keeps his eyes focused on my breasts. "Hello, you must be Brittany."

I nod in agreement, even though my boobs definitely aren't called Brittany: "Today is my first day here and I have no idea where I need to sign up."

He stretches out his hand and I shake it: "You've found exactly the right person. I'm Puck and would love to play your personal tour guide." He winks at me and keeps hold of my hand more firmly than necessary. I notice how he strokes his thumb just above my wrist; the whole time his eyes not managing to remove themselves from my upper body for very long.

It makes me slightly uncomfortable, and just as I'm thinking about how I can make this clear to him as friendly as possible, someone else does the work for me: "Damn! She also has eyes, Puckerman!"

The same voice from outside. She sounds almost icier than when I heard her last, but this time her mood isn't directed at me; in fact she helped me out of an awkward position with it. I turn my head in her direction and smile slightly. She probably doesn't even notice.

She stands there, a few meters away, with folded arms and looks at Puck, unimpressed, "If you think that a woman feels particularly good when you look at her like a piece of meat, then you've really not the faintest idea."

"Considering how clueless I am, I got you into bed real quickly then, didn't I Lopez." Puck, with the funny hair, shoots back.

This conversation should confuse me, to a certain extent it does, but I simply can't get over his hairstyle."You slept with him? Despite the hair?" I ask louder than intended. The words were in my head and simply had to get out somehow even though I hadn't planned for them to.

When I see his slightly transfixed and taken aback expression, I place a hand over my mouth and mutter a string of indiscernible excuses.

I'm sure he's about to send some sort of counter my way. Or maybe she would. After all, she seems to like him somehow, if she had sex with him. Even though she wasn't exactly friendly to him a few seconds ago...

The laughter makes my head shoot up, fast. She's just standing there, laughing.

Her eyes still appear too hard, but her facial features are more relaxed than before. She looks at me, amused, and makes a prompting head movement to the right: "Come on. I'll take you to the boss."

I follow her immediately. I even try to quicken my pace to be able to walk next to her. Again and again I have to turn my head slightly and try to interpret her expression. She doesn't say a single word and I don't know if I should say something. Actually I'd like to tell her that she is beautiful when she laughs. Perhaps she would do it more often if someone would only tell her. Maybe the laughter would even reach her eyes and get them to shine. If it wouldn't be totally weird to say something like that to a completely stranger, I would probably do it.

"Here we are." She points to a door and then just keeps walking. She goes straight away, and the brief view that I'm able to catch of her face before, reveals that she has returned back into her own dark thundercloud.

Although I don't know her, I'm keen to know what's going on in her head. Something about her fascinates me. Something about her makes me curious and sad at the same time. But just because I don't know her now, that doesn't mean it has to remain that way: "Hey...what's your name anyway?"

I'm convinced that she won't answer. She has almost disappeared around the corner of the small corridor, but then she looks briefly back at me again.

"Santana." is all she says, before disappearing completely from my view.

For a long time I can't stop staring at the now empty spot. My first day at work hasn't even officially started yet and I've already taken something on - I'm going to get to know Santana and I try to make her smile.

x x x

The words coming out of his mouth are definitely English. However, his accent reminds me way too much of the Bollywood films that my little sister loves to watch. She has a strange preference to watch the films in their original language with subtitles - I think it's way too confusing to pay attention to text that flickers at the bottom of the screen while also watching. Besides I don't understand why they need more than 200 minutes to tell a story that's retained no longer than half an hour in my head.

If I wasn't constantly imagining that the small man in front of me could jump on his desk at any moment, swinging his hips to strange music, perhaps I could concentrate on what he is telling me. Subtitles wouldn't be such a bad thing right now.

He introduced himself as Mr. Figgins. Has he really always been called that or was he given that name when he reached America by boat? He can't have been born here, or else he would speak the language better. After all, I have Dutch ancestors and still can't speak Dutch. I know maybe a couple of words, but I probably wouldn't get very far in the Netherlands by cursing...

As far as I was able to follow him amidst my mental digressions, which unfortunately occur way too often, he explained the fundamental procedures: they opened six days a week from 3 p.m. Closed by 10 p.m. The employees start, due to preparations, at 1 p.m. and work in shifts. Sunday was the day of rest. However there are occasionally performances that day in which case funds must be collected.

I squint my eyes and try to remember more things. What's left of the conversation in memory so far isn't that bad, but I think most of the stuff my mother already told me before...

"Normally we don't hire anyone without a job interview, but your dance video has really convinced us and we urgently need a replacement." comes from my new boss and I'm torn from my thoughts. Did he just say something about a video? How I could be getting the job without even introducing myself first is a mystery to me...

I look at him quizzically: "What video?" The only videos that I can think of in connection with dancing aren't particularly impressive. Rather a little embarrassing.

"With your written application, we got sent a montage of your dancing abilities. You're really good and your style is fantastic."

A blush shoots upon my face. Of course I have dance videos. But these videos should never come into the hands of other people – They're private! No one should see me jump around about my room to loud, turned up music, wearing just a tank top and panties. I actually thought that nobody knew this passion of mine. The recordings are only on my laptop. A few on my phone. So how come they're in the hands of this man? Or had I lost my phone again?

Almost a little panicked I pull my purse to me and rummage around inside. Of course I know that Figgins is looking at me. My fingers close around the phone and I pull it out. If it's still there, I can't have lost it.

"Has your phone been ringing? I haven't heard anything." Figgins seems to be a bit irritated by my sudden outburst. I am too. Why did I get the job through these videos? It's not that I have enough space in my room to dance properly. I can bounce around a bit and its fun, but it doesn't look pretty good.

Slowly, I look back at him: "Have you really given me the job because you like my style or...?"

He shakes his head and looks at me questioningly: "Of course. What other reason could there be?"

The only other reason I can think of is that my butt looks really good in tight pants. Perhaps that sounds a little self-absorbed, but my butt is something I'm very proud of: "Well...this video..."

However I'm able to carry on no further. There is a short pounding on the door and without even waiting for a response a pretty small young girl steps into the room: "You asked to see me, sir?"

She talks very fast and it all sounds extremely pompous. Isn't it also a little rude to just burst into a conversation? But that's fine with me; I probably would have talked myself into a hole otherwise.

"Yes, Rachel. But as you see, I'm actually still in the middle of a conversation with Brittany." He nods in my direction and it almost seems as if Rachel hadn't noticed me at all up until that moment.

She briefly looks me over, then nods: "Nice to meet you, Brittany." However her interest in me doesn't appear to be overly great, because she turns immediately back to Figgins: "I'm sorry, but unfortunately I only have time right now. I have to start the preparations for the singing lessons. Without vocal exercises I can't show my students, how a piece of music sounds when it's expressed absolutely perfectly. I also still need to finish the choreography for the dance lesson this evening."

I had faded out her voice after the "Sorry", but the words 'dance lesson' somehow manage to ring in my ear and I cock my head curiously. It seems that I'm more superficial than I thought; this girl, in her strange knitted sweater - I would never have classified her as a dance teacher. Doesn't my grandmother own exactly the same sweater? Or is it the equal sweater? I have never been able to remember the difference between these two words. Why is she even wearing a sweater in the summer?

Figgins clears his throat and he slides a bit uneasily back and forth on his chair: "Exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. But first..." He stands up, pulls out a trash can from under his desk and hands it to me: "Would you be so kind to empty this into the container? You have to walk the aisle to the left and out through the door at the end."

I accept it and inspect it skeptically; at home I take the garbage out only if it's in fact already overfull. This one is perhaps only one-third filled with paper and I would definitely take at least another week to get it completely full. But I probably shouldn't contradict my boss.

So I nod and smile: "Happy to help!" While exiting the office he tells me to simply leave the garbage can in front of the door when I've got rid of the content. Why he wants me to do it, is a puzzle to me. However, I've already made the decision not to question him.

Now that I'm outside the door I need to first orientate myself a little. That this building would have so many aisles, I wouldn't have thought before. Maybe someone should draw me a map until I can find my way around on my own. Figgins told me that my first few days will mainly consist of watching so I could surely use them to picture myself a small map.

After about two steps, I can hear a muffled, shrill outcry. It surprises me and I inevitably flinch. The shrill voice is clearly Rachel's and is shortly thereafter mixed with a loud male shouting.

With eyes wide I look back at the door. I can't understand what they are arguing over, but the aggressive sounds shock me a little. I have a feeling that my eyes will jump from their sockets at any moment, if that's even possible. Thank God I am no longer in that office. My eyes drop to the trash can again and a surprised tone leaves my mouth as acknowledgment sinks in. Figgins was aware that his conversation with Rachel would take this turn. That's why he sent me away. I have to smile. It remains, however, only until I hear Rachel swear loudly at which I quickly make my way to the dumpster.

x x x

"Of course I'm coming over tonight, Abuela." At first I am uncertain as I step into the backyard and hear the voice. It sounds familiar, but yet so different - so much gentler and kinder than I have heard before.

My feet don't want to go any further as I hear and then see her in front of the containers. She has her back turned to me and her dark hair falls smoothly over her shoulders. It shines beautifully in the sunlight.

"Unfortunately, I have to work and can't make it earlier." I'm about to ask, who she's speaking to when she turns her head slightly and I discover the phone at her ear.

She sighs and shortly afterwards, continues to speak in this gentle tone. But it also sounds a little resigned: "I know that I have to do this job. Still, I don't like it very much."

Maybe I should just go back inside, or slam the door more loudly one more time. I feel like an intruder who shouldn't see her like this. However, I can't bring myself to call her attention to me. She seems so different. _So nice. _

What happens next makes my heart skip a beat: She laughs. Though not this half-hearted laugh; her entire head falls back and she laughs at the top of her lungs. Light wrinkles manifest around her eyes and a dimple appears on her cheek. Now she not only sounds different, she looks different too.

It's a wonderful sight. It triggers a feeling which disperses through my body. I don't understand why, I don't even really know her yet, but something stirs within me. I notice the corners of my lips shoot upwards and I feel the need to simply laugh with her. Luckily I can control myself and don't do it, yet I continue to stare at her with this silly grin on my face.

Our eyes meet and it dawns on me why I was able to take in every movement of her face during her laugh attack – because it had been turned towards me. And now she's discovered me. My fingers dig into the trash can as she briefly tears her eyes open in a caught manner until finally, I see her features harden once again.

"I have to hang up, Abuela. I'm looking forward to later." Her tone of voice hasn't changed. It's still soft.

Briefly she holds her breath; her gaze wanders restlessly back and forth between me and the container. Then she turns her back on me again. She wants to speak quietly, mumble, but I still hear her words perfectly well. They sound honest and incredibly loving: "I love you, too..."

If I had previously felt like an intruder, I feel even more out of place now. This conversation wasn't meant for my ears. Her entire body stance tells me that whilst the quiet tone of her phone tells me that she's already ended the conversation, yet she still remains turned away from me. Tense.

"How long have you been stood there?" There it is again - the icy and harsh voice, which doesn't sound like her at all now that I've heard her 'real' voice.

I notice my fingers have slowly begun to hurt and I loosen my firm grip on the trash can a bit: "For a while..." Should I just go to the container and dispose the garbage now? But she's still standing in front of it.

Still, slowly I begin to move: "In any case long enough to ask myself who Abuela is?"

She turns to me and folds her arms over her chest. She tries to act cool, but all I can see is her uncertainty. She can't keep eye contact. Every time she looks at me, her gaze immediately falls back down again: "That's none of your business."

"Isn't it hard to always act so mean?" I ask her, almost directly in front of her now. I don't know why I had to say it. It's not in my nature to make judgment on something or someone so quickly. Her eyes widen as I stretch out my hand in her direction to open the container behind her. With a jerk she harshly pushes my hand away.

"What the hell are you doing?" She tries to back away from me, but after only one step, her back is pressed against the container. The way she looks at me for a moment, trapped; was it only the current situation in which she felt trapped?

My hand hurts slightly from her strike. She delivered an amazingly strong hit, but somehow it doesn't bother me, though I can't understand why she did it in the first place. I point with one of my fingers behind her: "I just tried to open the container."

Only now I realize how close I got to her and how my hand movement must have appeared. I take a step back and look down at my shoes: "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to touch you. I mean...you seem as if you could need a hug right now, but I didn't intend to do that. Such things only happen when people are friends and we don't know each other yet...although I'd really like to change that."

When I look up again after my impossible rambling, her eyes are finally on me, her eyebrows raised slightly: "You want to get to know me? I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Why not?" Maybe I should just say that I find her nice. Although that would be somewhat exaggerated. She's interesting for sure, but whether or not she's actually nice? I don't know yet. There is something about her that I can't grasp. At least what I just saw was nice and I'm keen to learn which of the two sides belongs to the real Santana.

Just as she opens her mouth to say something the door behind me opens: "There you are, Santana."

For the second time within a few minutes one of my conversations gets interrupted. About the one in the office I'm not even mad at, but now I'm feeling a little frustrated. It was going mostly well with Santana. She wasn't jumping at my throat and she even seemed to relax a little.

"I need you to come inside. Rachel is going crazy!" the dark-skinned girl at the door finishes.

x x x

Even if I hadn't run after Santana and the other girl, who on the way briefly introduced herself as Mercedes, I would've found the right way despite my bad sense of orientation - the commotion coming from the large main room is unbelievably loud.

Maybe I should hide small devices that make a noise at the push of a button around everywhere. Perhaps then I would be fast at home here and able to find my way around. Maybe I could just ask Rachel if she would record me a tape. Her voice would be really hard to overhear.

Although I hardly understand a word Rachel says, every now and again my name sounds over to us, which causes Santana to throw me interested looks. I'm sure she's wondering what I have to do with Rachel's bad mood, but I can't even explain it myself. I didn't even see her for more than five minutes so I'm pretty sure I had no opportunity to say something stupid. Still, I think I'll prefer to stay a little behind the other two when we finally reach the hall – just in case.

This turns out to be a good decision. As soon as she sees us, the little bundle rushes in our direction, gesticulating her finger furiously at me: "What did you do to get the job?"

Slightly roughly, Santana pushes the raving Rachel back a little. Yet she seems unfazed by this action and stares even more dark and gloomy in my direction. I have to admit, it's quite intimidating.

"You must have stretched and strutted around in front of him in your tight clothes. Someone like you can only show off with their body."

"What have I..." and again I am interrupted. This time it's Santana who steps in front me, shielding me from Rachel: "Someone like her? What is she exactly, Hobbit?"

"She...she is...you know exactly what I mean! And it seems to be true. Why else would she be the new dance teacher when I already took over the job just the other week?" Although I'm not quite sure what she meant by saying 'someone like you', I'm quite happy that she ignores the question and I don't need to hear the answer. Something tells me that it wouldn't have been very nice.

"Annoyingly, you take over everything, even though you have no idea how to do it. You're a lousy dancer. She might be good, so she has the job now." Santana shoots back immediately. Her tone has reached a new level of irritability. At last it seemed like she was actually being nice to me.

Rachel clenches her hands into fists and her face is so red that I can imagine it's certain to explode at any moment. Fortunately, Santana stands in front of me, so I won't be hit by chunks of flesh when it happens...

"Without a job interview? There's something really suspicious going on."

Now it's Mercedes' turn to clear her throat: "Sorry Rachel, but there were really a lot of complaints about your teaching methods. Do you remember the thing with Sugar Motta two weeks ago? It amazes me that her father hasn't sued this place yet."

"Sugar has absolutely no talent and I only made that clear to her. It's not my fault that no one else has been honest with her and I had to destroy all her dreams." She stretches out a bit and tries to glare at me across Santana's shoulder: "I was only doing my job, a good job, which I have honestly earned and which someone is now stealing away from me."

"Firstly." Santana starts and builds herself up slightly in front of Rachel: "you can't dance at all. You're probably a good vocal coach. Once I heard somewhere that you can sing pretty well. I unfortunately can't judge, because I always put in ear plugs when I see you move your mouth. But when you try to dance, it looks as if someone has set your pants on fire and you're flailing about to extinguish it."

Somehow all of this reminds me of a tennis match. If tennis however were half as interesting, I would probably watch it more often. With every ball exchange, the players wouldn't groan so ridiculously, but instead scream insults at their opponent.

Just when Rachel starts to open her mouth again, Santana raises her index finger and shakes her head: "I'm not finished yet. After first comes second."

I'm bouncing from one foot to the other. Somehow the whole situation is enthralling, but I don't really feel comfortable. After all, I'm the trigger of all of this and I actually should defend myself and not be defended by Santana. Although for some reason I liked it.

"Secondly, you didn't deserve the job. You just took it after Mike quit so suddenly. That it was only a temporary solution was clear to everyone else except you. You, with your big hobbit feet, have simply no rhythm. I don't know why it comes as such a surprise to you now. Maybe because you still live in Middle-earth believing to be the chosen one."

Immediately after Santana has finished her rant, Rachel scoffs and she rolls her eyes in annoyance: "If I didn't know better, I might think you can actually read a book. But why are you even here right now? It's stated in my contract that I'm not required to work shifts with you."

"Well..." Santana turns around and I immediately notice that her eyes have lightened up a little. Although she still looks angry something is different. She almost seems slightly amused and satisfied: "Since Trouty Mouth is sick and your gay Care Bear no longer works here, we're understaffed. So live with it and get out of my way."

I'm beginning to wonder if anyone here likes anyone else at all. I haven't experienced so much shouting and bad vibrations in a place for a long time. And I'm sure I haven't even been here two hours. I glance at Mercedes. She makes a nice impression. Maybe I should ask her about that stuff later.

"Oh and by the way, Berry" As I hear her voice again, I have to turn around immediately - Santana is in fact still in the room. I actually thought she would already be gone. For a moment her eyes look directly at me and they seem almost gentle, then she looks back to Rachel. Her eyes take on a different, more threatening expression: "Leave Brittany alone. Lima Heights...you know what I mean."

Just when I want to reply; just when I want to go after her and thank her, I hear laughter and footsteps behind me. A male voice, I think it's Puck, calling my name and I turn around.

I just glimpse a flash of red flying towards me, before it hits me; cold and totally unexpected. My eyes begin to burn and on my lips I taste something sweet and sugary. My face, my hair and everything that has been hit by the liquid, feels instantly sticky. But the worst part is the burning in my eyes.

"Welcome to the Glee Club!" is shouted by at least two male voices and they start to laugh.

A soft heartbroken whimper escapes my lips and I don't even know if it's because of the stinging pain in my eyes, which is now also in my nose, or whether it comes from the crippling humiliation that I feel all of a sudden.

x x x

**Thank you so much, Holly :-)**


	2. Affairs of the heart

****Author's Note:** **Thank you for all the hits, favs, reviews and stuff. This chapter is a little bit shorter. I started out the original story with a few shorter chapters (meanwhile they have reached a decent length) at the beginning. The first chapter of this story is a combination of the original first and second one. Sadly, not all the chapters work that well together.

Hope you like it!

**(2) **Affairs of the heart

Almost everything around me, I'm only able to perceive damped. Fortunately, I can't see anything - what I can hear is already more than enough. The laughter around me consumes my senses and causes my heart to tighten. It's like a roaring in my ears and it drowns out everything else.

The pain is the worst. I press my hands to my eyes and hope that it will finally subside. But it won't go away. As the upper part of my body sinks forwards a strange sound escapes my throat. It sounds dark; it sounds exactly how I feel right now. It sounds painful.

A hand finds its way onto my back. I don't know whose it is and the gentle, circular movements should probably have a calming effect, but they don't.

"Are you okay?" Even the voice seems only remotely familiar to me, but I can finally assign it with Mercedes while I shake my head - Ok is far from what I feel right now.

It's interesting how everything seems different when you can suddenly no longer see anything. I have the impression that everything around me and with me is happening in slow motion. So I don't know how much time has already passed when finally the storm breaks lose behind me.

I'm sure that it's Santana who speaks. She sounds furious; a tone that leaves behind no doubt that she is really angry. However, I can hardly understand a word. It's Spanish and I really should at least understand snippets of the language, but she talks way too fast and I can only place a few swear words.

It's funny how I can remember the swear words and curses in almost any language, like my brain was simply programmed to do exactly that, although I never consider using them.

A slight breeze and the rumbling impact of shoes indicate that she's storming past me. Her tirade knows no end. Quite the contrary actually; she is getting louder and louder. Only now do I realize that the laughter has fallen silent.

Slowly, other fingers caress over my arm and then drag one of my hands away from my eyes: "Don't rub, it makes it worse." After her little outburst mere minutes ago, I really hadn't expected Rachel and so the fact that she's so close to me now is almost a little scary. Is it a good thing to be so close to her?

She notices my short flinch and squeezes my hand: "Can you see anything?"

I shake my head again: "It burns..." Instead of getting better, with every second it just seems to be getting worse. I can't really feel it, but I'm almost sure that there are now also tears streaming from my eyes.

The shouting has stopped. I can hear the guys mumble something and begin to move away, to distance themselves from me - apparently they're leaving. The impact of a door proves me right and shortly afterwards makes me shudder again, at which the two hands on me reinforce their grip.

Immediately I notice how a third person walks up to me; she places herself in front of me and I instantly know who it is before she even opens her mouth. She breathes deeply, probably trying to calm herself down: "We'll go now and get you cleaned up, Brittany. Is that okay?"

The rage hasn't quite disappeared from her voice yet, but after all it isn't directed at me, so it doesn't disturb me. Besides I have plenty of other things to be concerned with at the moment and so I manage to get out a tight 'yes', which is so quiet that even I can hardly hear it.

x x x

A squeaking sound indicates that something is being dragged across the floor. Shortly afterwards a pair of hands press me gently down and set me on a chair. It feels like a chair anyway...

"Just stay seated and try to relax a bit."

Somehow I knew that it was Santana. Whether it was simply the touch of her hands that made it clear to me, I don't know, but somehow it could only be her.

It probably really is true, that all other senses work harder when one of them fails.

"Am I blind?" It shoots out of me and I have to give in to the impulse to rub my eyes again. What would happen if I was? Would I still be able to dance, if I can't see anything? How will I find my way? Often I'm not even able to find my way when I can see.

I start to breathe faster. It feels as though someone were squeezing my throat and I'm left gasping, trying to get more air: "I'm blind."

So that's the way you feel when you start to hyperventilate. I've heard about it before although I wouldn't necessarily have wished to have the experience for myself. I feel dizzy and just want to run away from it.

My body attempts to get in motion: to jump up. I notice how I nearly overturn the chair and almost stumble forward but again, there are those two hands and they push my body back down onto the chair: "Breath easy. In and out. Very smoothly."

Although her words have already triggered a calming effect on me, it's the weight of her body, which brings my gasping breath to falter. It surprises me how out of nowhere Santana just takes place on my lap like that. For a moment I completely forget to breathe, and must eventually pick it up again, spluttering air.

"You're definitely not blind. Calm down." Her fingers stay on my shoulders and start gently stroking over them.

Slowly, my breathing finally calms back down, but my heart simply doesn't want to stop pounding. But why? I'm probably just shaken up too much by all the events. After all, I'm probably not blind. Otherwise she wouldn't say it.

Someone eventually clears her throat: "I hate to disagree, Santana, but Slushies can certainly do some serious damage. Especially since she probably got it directly in open eyes..."

"Oh God..." So maybe I was blind. But maybe Rachel just wants to scare the shit out of me because I took her job, although that would be pretty nasty revenge. Restless, I knead my hands together.

"Was there really a need to say that out loud, Berry? Make yourself useful and hand me a towel." One hand is released from my shoulder.

After a few short movements and rustling in the room, I feel a piece of fabric run gently over my face: "Shouldn't I perhaps do it? I have a lot more experience with Slushies..."

"No!" My hands claw almost frantically sideways into Santana's shirt. I shouldn't have screamed so loud but although she sounds quite friendly now, I still wouldn't want to be at Rachel's mercy.

"You heard the lady. It's no wonder that she has doubts about your abilities. After all, you let her walk into a wall on the way here." I feel the need to almost giggle a little. When I had hit the wall, it seemed that Rachel was really sorry about it, but Santana wouldn't stop making her apologize and showering her with insults the whole way afterwards.

"I didn't do it on purpose. How many more times do I have to say it? I can't keep apologizing again and again..."

Before she can even continue however, her words are cut short by Santana: "If it were up to me, you could apologize all day. You always do something, even if it's just your mere presence."

An indignant sniff and the clattering of heels are not to be overheard: "I understand...someone needs to help Mercedes with the work anyway, as long as you're here." I hear as the door opens: "Call me if you need anything, Brittany." Her voice is shortly afterwards drowned out by the door being pushed, quite rudely, back into its hinges.

Silence returns. For a moment I can only perceive the faint noise of the towel as it brushes against my skin and my own, now calmer breathing. It's a pleasant change from the cries of the last few minutes and finally I get the feeling that I can relax.

The towel is taken from my face and Santana's body lightly moves against me; she fidgets a little on my lap and leans more towards me. I feel her upper body press against my own chest. My heart had just calmed down and is now speeding up again. She is so close that I can even smell her. It's a pleasant smell; not too sweet, not too tart.

I would love to know what this smell was and so I can't help myself from trying to inhale the scent. With my hands still clinging to her sides, I notice how her body stiffens at this and she pauses in her movements. Maybe I shouldn't have done that.

"You smell good." I release my firm grip on her shirt and put my hands on her hips. Somehow it feels right to me.

She still doesn't move. Maybe I shouldn't have said that either. Or maybe I should just take my hands back to me, but I really don't know what else to do with them. It feels uncomfortable when I simply let them hang down my side, while she is so close to me, sitting on my lap. Why is she even doing that? I still can't get my eyes to open far enough in order to find out.

To just feel all of this and to see nothing makes me totally confused.

Just as I'm about to ask, motion comes into her body again, and shortly thereafter water starts splashing smoothly behind my head. I must be seated in front of a sink. That's the reason why she leaned into me. She was trying to reach the sink.

She completely ignores my statement, which I'm grateful for: "I'm gonna start to clean your eyes now."

She carefully wipes over my eyes with the wet cloth. It's a little uncomfortable, how the water is running over my face, downwards and even down the neck of my shirt. But at least the stinging in my eyes finally begins to die down. I had almost gotten used to it.

"I'm sorry." What is she sorry for? She probably notices how I wrinkle my forehead confused as she speaks up again: "It's just a stupid joke by the guys. A welcome gift for every new colleague."

The creases on my forehead only get deeper: "That's not very nice."

Either she tries to wipe the confusion from my face with the towel, or tries to remove the remaining Slushie, because she stokes it gently over my forehead and my face relaxes instantly again: "It's not nice, and usually they only do it with other guys."

In a short movement, her hand with the cloth returns back behind my head, likely to make it wet again, then the water falls silent and she sniffs: "Puck's an idiot. I'm really sorry."

She rubs over my face one more time and finally I try to open my eyes. I blink and everything seems far too dazzling; blurry.

"It's not your fault that he's that way." I squint my eyes a few times and try to get a clearer view of her. Sadly it doesn't work - all I want right now is to see her better. She is so close to me. Although I've already felt it, what I can see very unclearly now, surprises me nonetheless.

Slowly she lays her hands on my cheeks and it's like being hit by lightning.

I feel her touch throughout my entire body, though I would have expected to feel it less intensely now that I'm able to see again; my other senses should have calmed down already. I don't know why I react so strongly or even what I was expecting - In any case, not the simple fact that her hands were obviously just moving over my face to smooth away the remaining water droplets.

If I appear to her as overwhelmed as I feel right now, she doesn't show it. She just rubs her hands dry on her pants: "Can you see anything?"

I nod: "Not well, but it keeps getting better." My heart is pounding again. It reminds me of a cartoon; as if it were jumping out of my chest with every beat for the whole world to see.

What's wrong with me? All I want is to feel calm again, but how is that possible with her sitting on my lap? Why does she have such an effect on me? Or is it not her? But what else could it be then?

"Oh man..." I press the palm of my hand to my forehead and try to push all of these confusing thoughts back inside.

"What's wrong?" She asks quietly, and as I let my hand drop again our eyes meet. She's looking at me almost a little worried.

"I..." I can't tell her what I was really thinking. Even for me this is all way too confusing; how would it seem to her? So I just shake my head: "I'm probably a bit overwhelmed..."

After all - not a lie. The day has actually been quite overwhelming so far. Mainly exhausting and confusing.

"I know a good solution for that." She pats me on the shoulder and stands up from my lap. For my emotional state, it doesn't help that I immediately miss being so close to her body: "You take a shower and wash the remaining Slushie and stupid thoughts off of your body."

I'm about to ask how I would do that when I finally give my surroundings some attention. I'm in a large brightly tiled room. Directly across from me are two open showers and I'm sitting in front of one of three sinks: "There are showers here?"

"You want to give dance lessons, right? After a few units you're for sure pretty sweaty and..." Her words falter and she falls silent. Her gaze turns away from me and she seems to stare almost pensively at a point right above my shoulder.

Just when I'm about to say something, she shakes her head and turns back to me; her brown eyes not able to make contact with my own. "Anyway...here's the employee locker room." She points briefly to a door: "Over there are our lockers. One is still free and now perhaps yours."

I can't say why or how, but her mood seems to have changed in a bad way from what it was a moment ago. Whatever had just briefly crossed her mind seems to have moved her back into her own dark, protective cloud and I let the opportunity pass without even asking her a single interesting question.

"Okay, thank you. I'll probably go have a shower then, I'm really sticky everywhere. It even feels like this stuff has run into my underwear..."

Her eyes twitch briefly to me and for a slight moment, they look down my body before quickly, she turns away from me entirely. Too fast for me to figure out her gaze somehow but too fast for me not to notice it: "I have clothes to change in my locker. I'll get you some."

She's already half out of the door when an important question comes to my mind again. I couldn't stop thinking about it since it was thrown into the room earlier. I'm not sure if now is the right time to ask, because she just withdraw into herself yet again, but it wants to break free anyway: "You and Puck?"

She leans with one shoulder against the door frame and looks over the other back at me: "A long time ago and never again." It sounds so determined that it really leaves no doubt about her statement.

The fact that she's now looking into my eyes again emphasizes her words even more. Maybe I'll ask her about it again sometime and learn more, but not now. She wouldn't have owed me an answer anyway. A few hours ago I would never have thought that she would come so close to me in such a short time and now she was already sitting on my lap.

Who sits on the lap of a total stranger just like that? Not that I didn't like it...or how her body came so close to mine...or her smell. I'm starting to think about it again. I shouldn't think about it.

When I finally shake away these thoughts of confusion, she's still leaning against the doorway, watching me. She looks amused and I feel somehow caught, although I haven't done anything. Apart from thinking about her and her body which is bad enough.

"A dollar for your thoughts." comes from her with a grin.

I shake my head and I realize how hard I'm blushing: "You don't want to know. They make absolutely no sense. Not even to myself."

"Well..." She pushes herself away from the door: "when they eventually start to make sense to you, just tell me. Then I'll make you the offer with the dollar again."

With that she leaves me, having raised the question of whether I should continue to deal with my thoughts. Do I even want to give them any sense? I'd be better off just taking a shower and thinking about absolutely nothing. But the best thoughts always come to me when I'm showering - It's a vicious cycle.

While I discard layer after layer of my glued clothes, I conduct myself to not think of anything - I say it to myself like a mantra. Nevertheless, it's useless. Once the warm water is flowing along my body, I can't help but think once more about all my confusing thoughts and I feel my heart as it begins to pound faster.

x x x

After my shower I find a small pile of clothes in the locker room. It's really nice of her to lend me her stuff. Unfortunately, we're built too differently in certain parts of the body: the bra has too much room and I don't get her pants pulled over my thighs. I watch myself in the mirror for a moment as I heavily tug on the garment and look pretty frustrated whilst doing so.

I finally give up and slip back into my own shorts and just wear her shirt over my bra. The other part of the underwear I don't even want to think about. It's something I've never worn before and it feels strange and different on my skin. But mainly I don't want to think about the fact that she perhaps often or always wears something like that...

As I make my way back to the main room, I try out how well I'm able to move in the shirt. It's a little too short. Not so much that it exposes a lot of skin - at least not the way I'm moving in it - however, as soon as I raise my arms, it shows enough of my stomach. Not that I actually mind, I'm just not sure it would be appropriate on my first day of work.

The sound of many voices and various other noises guides me to my destination and I'm surprised at how crowed the room is now. It's filled with children and teenagers of different ages. Some of them are probably about my age, while others are significantly younger. It seems the shop has opened in the meantime.

I briefly skim with my eyes through the people and eventually spot a familiar face behind the counter. My feet carry me through the crowd and I let myself drop onto a bar stool: "Hey Mercedes."

She currently pours a glass of Coke and looks up briefly: "Hey! Did you survive the attack?"

"I won't drink a Slushie again anytime soon. Sad, because I really liked them." I answer and watch her as she passes the glass to a boy over the counter. He immediately disappears leaving us alone.

"Then I have just the right thing for you." She gets out another glass and pours the remaining Coke inside. After placing a straw into the liquid, she slides it to me.

"Thanks." I have to smile a little while I wrap my lips around the straw and soon after, start to blow air bubbles in the drink. That's something I've never been able to resist doing. Once I see a straw, the temptation overcomes me and I end up playing more with the drink than really drinking it.

She raises her eyebrows and chuckles: "Other than that, how's your first day been?"

I lean back on my stool and look at her thoughtfully. It's been really confusing and far too much for me. But I can hardly tell her that a certain person messes me up and that I'm not able to understand all of the rest.

Besides I suddenly remember again what I wanted to know earlier and so simply pass over a response to her question: "Is it possible that no one likes each other here? I mean...Rachel and Santana don't seem to be friends."

"The two of them have always been like cat and mouse." She sets her arms on the counter and leans herself further towards me: "If it were up to Rachel, it wouldn't be that way but with the way she is, she never makes it easy for people to get along with her. Santana simply needs the arguments. They make her happy."

How can disputes make someone happy? I'm always insanely frustrated when I get into an argument with someone else. Usually I don't even know how it happened and I only feel happy again when everything calms down. However, earlier I could see perfectly well how she had way too much fun whilst insulting Rachel. Can she really only be happy like that?

Mercedes serves another guest and then turns back to me: "We all like each other here in a certain way; or we tolerate. We're all here because of so many different reasons, so we simply don't necessarily fit together."

"What reasons? Are there any others besides making money?" I ask her.

"Most of us work on a voluntary basis. Then there are the others..." She roams her eyes briefly to the right and left. There is almost something conspiratorial in the way that she then leans back over the counter to me and continues to speak in a whisper: "Some people are here for community service to stay out of prison."

My eyes turn wide. Criminals walk around freely here and are allowed to work with children instead of going to jail? Isn't it a bad idea to even let such people near children? That doesn't make any sense to me so I just have to ask: "What? Who? And what have they done?"

Briefly she scans the room again and then nods in one direction. I turn my head and discover Puck, standing with a group of guys at a pool table, laughing loudly about something. That isn't really a surprise. But then again, he did just throw a Slushie at my face so I don't exactly have the highest opinion of him right now...

"And Santana." She says softly.

Jerkily I turn my head back to her. Did she really just say Santana? I can't believe it. Sure she seems slightly rude, but that doesn't mean that she's a bad person: "Santana? I can't imagine. She's nice."

"I'm not saying that she's particularly evil, just that she should be treated with caution." Now it's her turn to look at me a little irritated: "She wouldn't be here if she had the choice."

"I can't imagine that she's done something bad... what did she do?" I ask again and my thoughts race for what feels like the thousandth time today. Earlier at the back yard she said on the phone that she needs to be here, even though she doesn't like the job. In hindsight, it sounds as if it's just an annoying obligation to her.

Mercedes pushes her fingers briefly against my arm and in doing so, guides my attention back to her. She looks at me seriously. There's something else in her eyes, something strange, that I can't put my finger on: "It's not my job to tell you what she did. All I can tell you is that you better stay away from her. Not only because of her criminal record."

"Why then?" Isn't it already enough that she's apparently a criminal? Why else should I stay away from her?

"She's different. She'll just hurt you." Is her succinct reply before returning back behind the counter to do her work.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea to talk to Mercedes. It's not as if she would have given me straight answers anyway. She just got me even more confused, and now this whole day doesn't make any sense in my head anymore at all.

I can't believe that Santana could be a bad person. Even if she did something, it was surely just a mistake and I'm not going to judge her without even knowing what happened. But why should I especially stay away from her because she's different? Being different isn't bad. It isn't forbidden. I'm different and it would make me sad if people would avoid me just because they were told to do so.

If Mercedes thinks that Santana will hurt me, that's fine. I'm old enough to make my own decisions and own experiences; I'm sick of people always telling me what to do.

Maybe Santana is only the way she is because no one wants to give her a fair chance. I'm sure she's nice. I'm sure she's so much more than any other people want to see, than she _lets_ them see. I'll simply tease it out of her. And if I end up getting hurt in the process? Well at least I tried.

x x x

**Dankeschön, Holly! :-)**


	3. Burning from within

**Author's Note: **Back from the dead! Still recovering from a surgery, but I'm getting better every day. I can promise regular updates again. Thank you for all the favs, alerts and stuff!

Enjoy!

**(3) **Burning from within

Whenever I dance I feel free. I don't have to think about a single movement. They happen all by themselves. Once the music surrounds me my body works as if on autopilot, as if my muscles can simply feel every beat, every harmony of a song. It runs straight through my body. I don't have to waste a single thought on what to do. I just do it.

In moments like this, everything else disappears - I no longer take notice of anything around me, only the indescribable feeling that comes with it. As if all thoughts, all worries, suddenly no longer exist. As if they weren't even there in the first place.

It's my element. It's the 'one thing' that I'm really good at, that no one can ever degrade or take away from me; it's the one thing that makes me feel completely safe.

Nevertheless, today everything is different. It doesn't work. For days now, all I've wanted to feel is the pleasant emptiness that used to always come with dancing - this relaxation. Yet all my thoughts and feelings dispel this emptiness over and over again. They refuse to give me any peace.

Frustrated, I press the pause button on the stereo for what feels like the fiftieth time in the last hour. At the same point of the song the gravity always leaves my body and makes me stumble - brings me crashing back down to earth.

Back to the reality that the reason I can't relax is because Santana has been avoiding me for over four days now.

It's driving me totally insane that she won't even let me near her. It makes me so mad because I don't know what I've done wrong. I actually thought it went pretty well last Monday. Her help in the shower room...the brief conversation... but now it's Saturday and except maybe a short 'Hello' we haven't exchanged a single word.

Every time I managed to catch her somewhere alone, she quickly found a reason to free herself from my presence. When we were sitting with the others it was as if I were nothing but air to her whilst she was her own icy, bad tempered self.

I sit down in front of the large mirror wall and pull my legs towards me. My head quickly finds its way onto my knees. I scrutinize myself in the mirror and can't help but notice that I look tired. Dark circles under my eyes.

Then again, it's not like I can sleep particularly well at the moment. I lay awake in bed, stare at the ceiling and think about Santana. That is until I catch myself thinking about her and then I begin to think about why I'm even thinking about her at all! How am I not supposed to be confused and kept awake by all of this? Especially as it's like a never-ending roller coaster ride; when it's finished it starts all over again, right from the top.

What has she even done to deserve my attention? After all she's acting now as if I were invisible. Not to mention that she's also got a criminal record and generally doesn't seem to be a very nice person... so why can't I stop thinking of her? Or rather _about_ her. It's not as if she's already done something extraordinary through which she's managed to burn a permanent image in my mind. Nevertheless, that little voice in my head is screaming her name again and again. Even when I can't see her, I know exactly what she looks like and I simply can't rid myself of her smell.

Sure the fact that I still have her shirt at home, which I keep catching myself sniffing so as not to forget her scent, isn't helping the matter...or that I'm constantly trying to run into her. Almost like a stalker I find myself repeatedly walking past rooms, in which I know I can find her, simply under the premise that she could suddenly walk through the door. Like a kid on Christmas Eve, who sneaks out of their room again and again so as not to miss Santa Claus and to finally be able to catch a glimpse of him.

What's the matter with me? What is it about her that makes me so messed up? I've never felt the way that I'm feeling right now. It doesn't feel real or even logical - all of this because of a person who I don't even know yet.

I need to stop feeling this way. After all, she obviously has no great interest to spend time with me. She hasn't done anything to deserve a single one of my thoughts, let alone jeopardize my only release from reality, my dance!

I have to get her out of my mind.

Maybe I should just imagine what terrible things she could have done. Maybe she killed someone? But she doesn't look like a killer at all and probably wouldn't be able to work with children if that was the case...maybe she kicked a puppy? That's it - someone who could do such a cruel thing, really doesn't deserve my thoughts.

I watch myself in the mirror as I nod my head and then stand up again. After briefly stretching out, I put the stereo back on. I close my eyes and let the music take its effect on me. Slowly, my body begins to twitch. It relaxes and finally seems to work. The movements flow smoothly back into my limbs and I feel good.

x x x

As I turn the music off again, I have no idea how much time has passed. I'm completely out of breath and sweaty. In a pleasant way I feel exhausted and finally freed from all this useless tension. Until behind me somebody applauds.

I turn around and she is standing there in the doorway: "Wow, that was really good."

She smiles. It looks a little cramped, but she smiles. This sight almost makes me a little angry. Hasn't she acted like I don't even exist in her world the last couple of days? Why does she need to come here right now and disrupt my peace again? To be honest, I'm glad that she's here right now. I'm glad that she's talking to me. But I won't allow myself to enjoy it. At best, I'll just think back to the poor little puppy...

With a low growl, I pick up the water bottle off the floor and take a big gulp. I've turned my back to her and try not to glimpse at her in the mirror without any particular success; time and again I glance briefly in her direction.

Slowly, she takes a few steps towards me: "You're better than Mike. He was really good too, but the way you just moved is something I've never seen before."

"Thanks" The curt syllable escapes my lips briefly as I take a few steps backwards, away from her. Once at the side of the room, I let myself slide down the wall.

I can see from the corner of my eye as her gaze lingers on me. The smile has disappeared from her face and she looks a little out of place standing tensely in the middle of the room.

She looks briefly at the door. It seems as if she is internally debating with herself whether or not she should just leave. But then she shakes her head and walks up to me again: "Brittany..."

"You've avoided me." I interrupt her and see no reason to look her in the face. I watch my fingers as they play with the cap of the plastic bottle.

"I just had a lot to do. Too much work." A little restless she kneads her hands together. Something I always do when I feel insecure, exactly as it looks now with her also.

"Don't play me for a fool, Santana. Even I'm not that stupid." My words sound unusually hard and surprise myself a little. Slowly I look up and notice that she isn't even trying to search for my eyes.

She sighs and at first I believe that she'll leave after all, but in the end she simply takes a seat beside me on the floor and leans her head back against the wall. Her body almost touches mine – so close she approached me.

My first instinct is to slide away from her, but I can't bring myself to do it. Her smell captivates me once again. It's much more intense than on her shirt and there is yet a different note that the material is unfortunately missing. But most of all it's her expression that prevents me from moving away. She almost looks a little tortured as she stares blankly into space.

"What have I done wrong?" I ask her quietly breaking the silence.

Just when I want to look away from her, she turns her head to me. She looks me straight in the eye: "You haven't done anything wrong." She seems to briefly struggle, her eyes flicker restlessly back and forth. Then she looks back down again. "It's me."

I have to blink twice whilst I continue to watch her; she looks so fragile. Not as hard as she had otherwise pretended to be to me and everyone else over the last couple of days. She seems preoccupied, as if something were bothering her.

"It sounds like you're going to break up with me." I bump her lightly with my shoulder and give her an encouraging smile.

I should really continue to be angry but at the sight of her, I lose all desire to go through with it. After all she came to me and so I shouldn't immediately scare her off again, especially when she's in such a condition. Besides, I'm not really good at staying mad at someone for too long. So why not lighten the mood a bit?

She squints at me, the corners of her lips twitching briefly upwards: "I can't break up with you if we haven't even had a date yet."

"Please, what?" I slide away from her a little now and look at her with wide eyes. I'm sure that it looks far too overdone but that's the way it's supposed to be: "Wasn't our recent encounter in the locker room a date?"

She turns completely towards me and studies my movements and facial expression with a raised brow: "If that was a date for you, it wasn't a very good one."

"For me it was the best date I ever had." I answer very quietly and even sniffle a little to add even more emphasis to the whole performance.

I don't know where these words came from or how I even built up the courage to voice them. It's not like I was talking about a real date to her, but still there's enough truth in my words. I did enjoy spending time with her in the shower room and I would probably take another Slushie to the face to experience it again.

She starts to laugh and shakes her head in amusement. That brief laughter is enough for me to wink at her and nudge her side again. Mission accomplished. Patient no longer quite so tense. I've wanted to make her laugh again so bad and so it almost fills me with pride that I was able to fulfill this intent. Yet I'm sure that can't be everything; I can tease even more out of her.

"You're a goofball..." One of her hands suddenly lands on my knee and presses shortly, before she simply lets it lie there. It's another one of those simple touches that floods me with so much warmth that I almost feel my insides burn. But it's a pleasant burning sensation, if such a thing even exists.

"But if we had a date now, I could actually break up with you." She adds. Her expression suggests that she's having just as much fun with this little discussion, as I am.

I clasp a hand to my chest; to my heart, although I always forget whether it is on the left or right side. Yet this time, the now constant pounding leads me unerringly to the right place: "I was prepared for that. You would only hurt me, Mercedes said so."

"What? What did she say?" She pulls her hand back to herself and her eyes narrow.

I shouldn't have said that. Why couldn't I just think for once before I open my mouth? But with her it's particularly very difficult. It's as if in one moment, I would tear down her walls just to rebuild them in the next with a rash statement.

"Don't start to be like that again." I simply state and try to interpret her expression. She continues to look at me, but it's returned to something strange, something hard and protected; as if she has once again begun her withdrawal, although she hasn't even taken two steps forward yet.

As if to only prove me more right, she also crosses her arms now and her tone of voice is cold: "How am I then?"

"Exactly like that." I point, making a sweeping gesture at her with my hand. Perhaps she notices for herself how defensive her whole posture appears: "One second you're all nice and open. Then I or somebody else says something wrong and you're hiding behind this wall of ice again. Then you won't talk to me for days, you growl at everyone around and other stuff. All this toing and froing confuses me."

"I'm sorry." She closes her eyes, probably trying to regain her composure, and then drops her arms: "It has nothing to do with you. I just don't like it when other people talk about me behind my back."

I take another sip from my bottle and continue to look at her as I do so: "She actually didn't say anything bad. She only said that you've been sentenced to work here. What you did, she didn't want to say and I haven't necessarily pried further."

"Isn't that already enough gossip? Does she have to make it everybody's business? If anyone is allowed to talk about it, then it's me and no one else." She gestures angrily with both hands and lets her head sink back against the wall before continuing in a calmer voice: "Isn't it my right to decide when I tell you such an important thing?"

I don't know if she intentionally uses the words 'when' and 'you' or whether she just says them, but it seems as though she at least has the intention of talking to me again. Although it really hadn't looked that way the last few days, but I should just leave that behind me, after all she's sitting here now and talking to me. In any case, bearing grudges is just too exhausting for me.

"Had you planned on telling me?" I ask now and turn my body more in her direction.

As if mirroring my movement she also turns entirely to me. It's weird how close we are, but not unpleasant. I already knew the color of her eyes, but now I can almost see every little fleck, every speck of color within their deep brown.

She remains still for a while and we simply look at each other. Then she nods slightly: "At some point of course. If I'm ever ready..."

"I don't know what you've done or what it's all about but whenever you're ready to talk about it, I'm here. Maybe not here in this room, but somewhere...you know what I mean." Once again I've probably passed the point at which I should have stopped talking.

However she smiles and so I probably haven't said too much, yet there is one more thing that feels necessary for me to add. It's important to me that she knows it: "I don't even care, Santana. There isn't always a need to dig around in the past. For this reason it's called the past and you don't have to make it the present. If that makes sense..."

It's true. Even if a small part of me really wants to know what she did, it plays no major role - I don't have to judge her by what she's done at some point in her life. It's more important what she's doing here and now; and about the now I can't really complain.

Especially not when her hand suddenly grabs hold of mine and pulls it towards her. She puts it in her lap and even wraps her second hand around it. Surprised I open my mouth and look at our intertwined fingers. They look good together and it feels just as good; as if our hands were made for just that. Not that I would have expected any of this. She always appears so withdrawn, so reserved. And now she's sitting here and seeking my closeness, completely aware of what she's doing.

I would love to know what she's thinking right now; what prompted her to act this way. For me anyway it feels as if we haven't simply known each other, or not known each other, for a week; everything with her feels natural and right. If it feels for her like it does for me, then I know exactly why she did it in the first place and why she refuses to let go of my hand now.

Her thumb strokes the back of my hand. It's difficult to pull away from this sight, but I manage to look back at her face again. She's probably been observing me this whole time and I'm glad that she can't hear my thoughts; my face has certainly revealed enough already.

"Eventually I'll tell you." She turns her face away from me and moves slightly. At first I get the feeling that she's slipping away from me again, but then she lays her head on my shoulder.

She continues to speak in a whisper: "And thank you."

"What for...?" Slowly, I can feel everything becoming too much for me to handle. It's not that I feel uncomfortable in the situation itself, her being so close...her soft hands and all that, but I feel somewhat uncomfortable, just because I don't feel uncomfortable! It's somehow too much, too fast and I don't know where all this has suddenly come from.

Her breathing is even and I feel it slightly ghosting over my skin. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and a slight shiver runs through my body. Hopefully she doesn't notice anything. Just thinking about it embarrasses me and I'm acutely aware as my already rapid heartbeat starts to hammer even more. Whether she can hear my heart too? I hope not.

She turns her head slightly and squints up at me: "You don't condemn me directly like everyone else normally does. They hear about 'the thing' or experience how I am, and immediately run away screaming. It's a thank you for not running away."

"I've tried to talk to you all week." I remind her and lightly squeeze her hand: "You've been the one running away from me and I still don't know why."

"I'm sorry, it was wrong of me to do that. That's clear to me now." A short dark shadow flickers over her eyes before she closes them and sighs. She seems to really regret her behavior: "I shouldn't have treated you that way."

I'm still no smarter than before. Although she's already said that I didn't do anything wrong I'm not convinced. Something had to have triggered her repellent behavior and since she could talk to everyone except me over the past few days; it has to be me. Admittedly they weren't ordinary conversations, mostly insults, but at least she had spoken to them. So why not me? I would have actually let her offend me if it meant that she was at least taking to me.

I gaze at her for quite a while as she lies so calm and relaxed against me until finally, I simply have to ask: "Why were you so cold to me then? Did I say something stupid or have I done anything? If I've done something wrong you need to tell me. Then I won't do it again. I didn't mean to offend you and..."

She had sat herself up and the finger pressed to my lips now brings me to silence. I had noticed myself that I was on my way to falling into an endless babble.

Her eyes lock with mine and they appear grave, not in a scary way, just serious. Gently, she shakes her head and somewhat smiles again: "I've already said that it's me not you. You've done nothing wrong. Except maybe accept the job."

She clearly means what she says; her whole expression indicates that to me. So I really didn't do anything wrong or make her angry. This calms me down immensely and I notice myself breathe out. Then I remember her last statement and furrow my forehead contemplatively. What's my job got to do with anything? Was it a mistake to accept it? But then I would have never even met her...or is that what she means?

My confusion is probably evident on my face because within seconds she continues to speak: "Have you ever met someone and immediately felt connected in some way?"

I nod slightly - that statement pretty much sums up my feelings for Santana. Previously I hadn't even expected that such a direct connection between two people could even be possible: "That's how I feel about you."

"And me about you. So I had to get a little distance these past few days..." She adds and drops back against the wall: "It scared me."

"Why's that?" It shoots right out of me. I can't imagine that her feelings for me are even half as confusing as mine for her. Since these feelings however only insecure me, I can't imagine why they should make her afraid.

A little nervous she slides back and forth on the floor and then is looking at me again. Her gaze looks almost pleading: "Is it okay if I don't want to talk about it right now?"

I consider her a while. Of course, I would like to know what the burden on her mind was and what she is thinking, but if she doesn't want to talk right now, I won't force her to do so. I have already realized that I probably should have a lot of patience, if I want to develop a friendship out of this thing between us. Luckily I'm a patient person.

"As far as I'm concerned we don't have to talk at all anymore." Her head shoots up and she looks at me confused for a moment, maybe even a little hurt, until I finally lift my arm in a welcoming manner and look at her with my head tilted to one side, a grin on my face: "Are you coming or am I suddenly too sweaty for you?"

Her face immediately brightens up again and she simply continues looking into my eyes for quite a while. She smiles a little. Her expression seems almost a little shy and thoughtful, the way she switches her gaze again and again between my arm and my eyes up and down. Like she's thinking about whether I really mean it, or whether she understands the gesture completely wrong.

Shaking my head, I shift closer and put my arm around her shoulders. I don't know where I gathered the courage for these movements but they just happen as if by themselves. I pull her towards me and give in to the wish, the compulsion, to feel her so close to me again.

Almost immediately, she lays her head down on my shoulder and her forehead touches my neck. It feels like all the other times our skin has touched directly; _special_. As if the very contact causes a jolt to my skin which then runs through every fibre in my body - her touch chases a shiver down my spine making everything in me and on me feel good.

Her touch completely messes up my heartbeat. Not even after a strenuous workout does it race like this – I'm now certain that it's Santana to whom it reacts so violently. But I don't know why. It's not like I've never held anyone in my arms before or I've never been touched by anyone. But with her it's different. When I'm around her everything and all I know comes undone. I fall out of my rhythm. And that doesn't happen often.

Whether it's healthy for a heart to beat so fiercely? What if all of a sudden it can no longer work so hard anymore and stops beating entirely? At 19 I'm really too young for that.

When she puts her arm around my waist the speed of my heart increases even more. Her breath skates along the ridge of my collar bone and I'm sure a heart attack is coming my way. I snap my eyes open in realization at what all of this means.

I look down at her as she is so peacefully resting against me, no doubt about to be ripped from her peace at any moment by me dying in her arms.

Although it's said that there are so many reasons for having a heart attack, I know the only correct explanation. Heart attacks happen when you love too much.

But maybe I should rethink this some more...I mean there has to be another explanation. It's impossible that I have feelings for Santana. Or perhaps it isn't? Can you have feelings for a person you don't even know that well?

If I could, I would ask her what it all means. But I can't. I can't tell her that since Monday all I've done is think about her constantly, of which my heart has had to pay for. How could I possibly tell her something like that if I don't even understand myself what's happening to me or where it's all coming from?

One thing is certainly clear now. If this is how it feels to be truly attracted to another person then it's something brand new to me. No one else has ever caused such an extraordinary feeling within me. If I survive the next few minutes then I should probably try to understand all these new emotions...especially what they could mean for me.

But when it comes to my heart, my hours are probably numbered.

x x x

**Thanks for torturing me all the time, Holly ;-)**


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